To Find The Sea
by Dr Girlfriend
Summary: Part I The Cruelest Month: Two years after the destruction of the SR1 Commander Shepard has been reborn. But so has her old squad. Featuring multiple character perspectives, minor OC's, dark themes, violence, and Shakarian! Cross posted from KMeme. Cover photo: taztothesky.
1. Chapter 1: Normandy SR1, Sahrabarik

**To Find The Sea**

**By "Dr Girlfriend"**

"_Follow the river, and you will find the sea." – French proverb_

**Part I: The Cruelest Month **[1]

**Foreword** _(Updated Aug 17, 2012)_

Welcome to my first fic! Sorting through the great variety of "Shakarian" fics can be a daunting and confusing task. As a reader of this sub-sub-genre, I am always very appreciative of authors who tell me up front what I can expect from them. That way, I can make up my mind early on about whether or not I can comfortably follow the author's imagination.

So what delicious little treasures do I have in store for you all?

- Multiple character perspectives.

- Loyalty to the basic story arc, but with a different imagining of how we get to those plot points.

- Sarah Shepard: Mindoir survivor, decorated soldier, woman of uncompromising principal.

- A more complex, realistic vision of the Alliance, Cerberus, and the Council.

- Characters from canon that have only been briefly mentioned will get more fleshed out backgrounds.

- Minor original characters that help us learn more about our most beloved squad mates.

- Un-glorified violence. Dark themes. Sexy sex (if I can manage it, fingers crossed).

- What we all really care about here: SHAKARIAN!

Constructive criticisms are always welcome. I am committed to being attentive to what does and doesn't work for all you fabulous readers.

* * *

**Normandy SR-1, Sahrabarik**

"Commander Shepard! Commander Shepard! Just a few questions!" Joker shouted extending a large metal spoon across the mess hall table.

Doctor Chakwas snickered loudly, holding her sides, as Ashley flashed an invisible camera.

"First, who are you wearing this evening?"

Dropping her face into her hands, trying desperately to hide her own laughter, Shepard shook her head. Well, it was her own damn fault for insisting on her tradition of sharing meals with the entire crew a few times each week. Joker would never be able to resist putting on his one-man show for such a large audience. It was when he was at his most smug that she thought his squinty green eyes made him look especially like a weasel.

"I'm ah…I'm wearing my one-of-a-kind standard issue captain's casuals."

The room cheered, overjoyed that the traditionally stone-faced Shepard would join the little game.

"And you are looking absolutely fabulous, Commander."

Ashley made a clicking sound as she twisted her torso around to catch Shepard from different angles with her phantom camera.

"Now Commander," Joker continued. "We've just heard that the Council has sent you a basket of rainbow muffins and declared you Empress of Awesome. My question is: why do you hate humanity?"

"Because…I love muffins? I don't know," she chuckled. Her olive skin was flushing with pink. She couldn't stop tucking her short dark hair behind her ears.

"I see. Fantastic." Joker put two fingers to his right ear, and nodded. "Oh, we're just getting another report now. It says the Council has listened carefully to your suggestions on investigating this threat of mass extinction and has taken swift action to push their heads up their collective ass. My question is…do you want this brown stuff on your potatoes? Its actually pretty good."

The crew roared with laughter. A pale man in greasy overalls toward the back and his stringy haired female companion hissed his disapproval. There were at least some people who remained unmoved by Joker's performances.

"Hell yes! Pour it on there, pilot."

Joker dutifully did as was requested and tipped his hat in her direction as he passed the tray of food. Shepard bowed her head in acknowledgement and scooped up a mass of the stuff on her fork. The sweet and savory taste onions and rosemary luxuriated on her tongue. Suddenly feeling emboldened by the growing energy of their party, she stood up with her cup of water raised high above her head.

"We fight! Until there is a kitten in the lap of every human, salarian, asari, turian, and quarian! We will assess the cuddling requirements of the krogan at a later date."

A dozen other glasses raised in response, followed by the victorious chant of, "a kitten in every lap!"

* * *

[1] The title of Part I is taken from one of the more famous lines of T.S. Eliot's _The Wasteland_. That part of the poem (in my interpretation, anyway) is all about how in spring new life grows from the dead left by winter. And that's what I feel is happening to Shepard's squad: though they're growing and becoming stronger people, but its a painful process.


	2. Chapter 2: Zakera Ward, Citadel

**To Find The Sea**

**Part I: The Cruelest Month**

**Headline Tonight, Alliance News Network**

_Following Parliament's plenary session today, Terra Firma party leader Nicolas Nikko announced he will seek a criminal investigation into the Council regarding the lead up to the Battle of the Citadel. Nikko alleges the intergovernmental body's failure to disclose details of Saren Arterius' history is evidence of gross negligence of galactic security._

_It's been three months since the Battle, still nearly nothing is known of how Arterius managed an alliance with the Geth, with the help of the asari matriarch, Benezia T'Soni._

* * *

**Zakera Ward, Citadel**

"Would you believe I'm an honorable, self-sufficient, all around bad-ass police detective in the prime of my adulthood and that my mother still packs my lunch?" quipped the turian holding a cracking acrylic container fresh from the microwave. The smoky aroma of the meat and vegetable casserole drifted alluringly to Garrus' flat nostrils, tempting him away from his greasy food stall sandwich.

"Is your mother single?"

"She's a retired drill instructor with failing eyesight," she laughed.

"So what you're saying is that she's not picky?"

Pelas threw a roll of paper towels at his head. Garrus feigned a mortal injury and then returned to his own colorless slop. His colleague grabbed a pronged utensil from the break room drawer and proceeded to impose her commanding figure into the solitary sphere he had been trying to build around himself.

"Good to see you've still got your wildly inappropriate sense of humor. Was beginning to think you might not be the real Garrus Vakarian."

His initial departure from C-Sec had not been pleasant, and he could not escape the rumors that his powerful new friends had been behind his welcome back to the force. Executor Pallin, feeling his own turian honor challenged by the insinuations, had made it clear to the detectives that it was Garrus' extraordinary service in the Battle of the Citadel that had warranted the second chance. Perhaps Garrus should have apologized to the force for the way he had insulted them. If he expressed his admiration and respect for their perseverance in the long, demanding hours of reconstruction—

He cursed himself as he realized was anticipating what Shepard would have advised him to do and then preparing to carry out her imaginary orders. But was it really her voicing those commands? Or was he starting to think that way for himself?

"How is Dolon these days? Your mother still giving you a hard time about dating a lowly mechanic?"

Pelas' gray eyes glistened as a sigh washed over her elegantly angled features.

"Dolon is one of the top engineers at his company, not a mechanic." She raised a gloved talon to the white markings on her left mandible. "We're bonded now. Mama said she was getting too old to keep rejecting my chances to give her grandchildren. She did insist he take our name, though. Now Mama's moved in the condo next door, and brings us a new fertility charm every week."

"Well damn, I guess that means I owe you both a very expensive bottle of wine," he said leaning forward and grasping her by the forearm. "Congratulations, Pelas. I wish you two the best of happiness. And just enough screeching little brats to keep your mother off your case."

Pelas was a good officer and a good friend. They had been partnered together when he had first reached detective. In those days, when he couldn't get his warrant or was forced to let someone out of interrogation before they had what they needed, he would rage and think of all the ways he could break regulations. Then Pelas would call him an idiot, knock him upside the head and come back an hour later with the exact paperwork they needed. But what he really appreciated was that never once did she ever throw his father's legacy in his face.

"Your Commander Shepard was on the news last night."

He was sure she noticed the way he shifted uncomfortably at the mention of her.

"Said there's a growing movement in her government calling for the Council to be investigated over Saren."

"Yeah, Terra Firma. Ignacio over in vice says their 'humans for humanity' bullshit is getting popular. Bet they're itching to play judge, jury, and executioner too."

"Rumor is some of those officers you worked under during your investigation into Saren are being forced to resign. Without pension."

_Good_, he thought. _Those blind, lazy, sycophants deserve – oh, no. Shit. Shit, shit, shit._

"Councilor Sparatus, too. Part of a deal Shepard came up with. Humans get to officially blame someone and the Council gets to deflect some of the nastier questions."

_If people had any real idea what had happened, what was still happening, there'd be a lot more than just questions._

"If you're asking me if it's true, I –"

"Mistrust of humans runs far and deep, not even Shepard can turn it around that quickly. We're spread thin enough as it is. When this thing happens, truth won't matter."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"There's a firestorm coming your way, Vakarian. I don't know if I can protect you this time."


	3. Chapter 3: Normandy SR1, Amada

**To Find The Sea**

**Part I: The Cruelest Month**

**Normandy SR-1, Amada**

The ship's visceral, monstrous wail rings in my ears, as the hull rips open. I hear one of the engineers list off the damage to the CIC. Anyone who had been on that deck is now gone. I do not want to count how many that may have been.

I fasten the latch on my helmet. My body is remembering its training. My mind relinquishes its control to the memory in my muscles.

A power surge courses through a nearby console. Flames leap from the equipment; supply crates topple over onto two of our newest technicians. They are being crushed. They are burning. But only one of them is shrieking. I fight back the blaze as best I can with the fire extinguisher. The other crewmembers rush to the lift the crates.

"Jenny! Jenny!"

"She's gone. Her skull's been smashed. We've got to move."

"Garza's legs," one of them points to the mangled limb. "We've got to get him up."

I motion for them to help me get him onto my back. The skin on one of his arms is charred black. Blood drenches the collar of his uniform. I will get him to the evac shuttle in time. But he will lose a lot of blood. He may not live long enough for rescue.

The bodies of our fallen brethren are in our path. I want to look at them, identify them, close their horror frozen eyes, and give them one last moment of dignity before I abandon their corpses to the devastation. But there is no time. My legs will not falter.

I see Ashley running toward me. She helps me guide the dying man into the cramped quarters of the shuttle.

"My boy…Andrew…daddy loves you, daddy loves you," he repeats over and over as we buckle him into his safety harness.

"Joker is still in the cockpit," Ashley tells me. There is fear in her face, but I can see it quickly dissolving into something else.

I nod. I am going after him. I will not give her a chance to stop me. I order her to secure the rest of the survivors. I do not need to reassure her. She knows.

I cross the exposed part of the upper deck. I control the pace of my breathing as my boots hug the quaking scraps of metal. I will myself not to see the planet this hulking thing I once called my home will inevitably crash on. I do not see the vast darkness all around us.

I pass through the kinetic seal. I hear Joker's frustrated vows.

"I can still save her!" he insists.

I am not listening. I grab him roughly by the arm and twist him around to face me. He does not meet my gaze. He is looking past me.

"Oh God…they're coming around for another attack!"

He makes no resistance as I hoist him to his feet. I feel a crack through the gloves of my hard suit, and I know I have just broken the bones in at least two of his limbs. He winces with every breath, sweat is pouring down his face. His ribs are broken too.

We are only a few feet away from the last shuttle. I slam my fist into the controls and the doors open. I throw him inside.

"This is not your day to die," I scold him.

I am lunging toward the opening when a blast thrusts us apart. The force pulls me backwards. No, no, no.I desperately cling to what's left of the ship's structure. I can do this. My fingers struggle to find a grip. I just need to get a little closer. My arms cannot hold. I am so close. Another blast and I tumble out into nothing. I am lost.

I think I am screaming. I feel the pressure in my suit rise. My hands reach toward the back of my neck. It is happening. I feel the rupture. 90 seconds.

I have 90 seconds to think of my crew. 90 seconds to think of our failed mission. 90 seconds to laugh at the universe's cruel joke. 90 seconds to think of the places I've never seen. 90 seconds to think of the last man I slept with. 90 seconds to ask forgiveness of the God I had forgotten. 90 seconds to remember all the soldiers I have ever lost under my command. 90 seconds to forgive myself. 90 seconds to conjure up the fading memory of my father's face. 90 seconds to remember my last words.

It is _my_ day to die.


	4. Chapter 4: The Migrant Fleet

**To Find The Sea**

**Part I: The Cruelest Month**

**The Migrant Fleet**

Tali stood to attention as the admiral gently opened the door to her quarters. She had been sitting on the lower bunk in the dorm she shared with another of the Special Projects recruits, staring holes into the floor. His head was tilted to one side. He was going to tell her, "yes," the answer she wanted to a question she had never wanted to ask.

"You have their approval."

"Thank you, _Ava_," she replied, dropping her tone of formality.

"Will a week be enough time to accommodate your travel?"

"I think so."

Tali moved to pull a small trunk out from under her bunk. She counted in her head how many emergency medical supplies she would need, preparing to pack double that amount. She struggled to recall if humans had any customs on gifts for the family.

_Flowers. That's what Shepard sent to Kaidan's parents. _

But Shepard didn't have any family left. A sad reality she could never imagine.

"The next shuttle to port leaves in three hours."

Tali snapped her focus back to her father as she noted the concern in his voice. He never let her doubt how proud he was of her, but the other admirals feared her pilgrimage experience had denigrated the Fleet in her mind. Quarians would never be tolerated as equal citizens in this galactic order, they told her. The Fleet had accepted this fact long ago.

"We had no qualms with the Commander," he continued. "She was deserving of our admiration."

"She didn't need your admiration. She needed your support."

The bitterness in Tali's voice hid the choke she felt raising in her throat.

"Recognizing a common enemy is not the same as sharing a common goal. Do you honestly believe she could convince her Alliance to open their systems to us?"

"Shepard would never lie to us." she spat back.

"Sincerity is not the issue. We have no reason to believe the human government would act on such a suggestion merely because one of their soldiers asked it of them."

"She might have convinced them to give us fuel, food—"

"We don't need handouts, Tali."

She could recite his next words by heart.

"We need freedom. The freedom to travel without restriction, to own our own farms on solid ground, to be seen as something other than beggars to be appeased with table scraps."

Tali thought about the way she used to slam her fists against the wall whenever she argued with her parents. She knew better than to ever raise a hand against them, or to break any of the precious few possessions they had. The only acceptable solution left in her childish thinking had been to make her protest known on a structure she could never possibly damage. How quickly the time between her feisty adolescence and her newfound womanhood seemed to pass.

"Forgive me,_ Tali-va_.[1] I did not want to argue with you when…it is not proper for a father to provoke his daughter when she is grieving."

"No, there is nothing to forgive." she sniffed. "You've always spoken the hard truths. Shepard always said those were the only ones worth listening to."

She let herself go, falling into his embrace. He stroked her back gently, the way her mother used to. She didn't have the heart to tell him how clumsy his attempts to comfort her were. It was enough that he was trying.

"She would have liked you, _Ava._"

* * *

[1] The addition of "-va" employed as a term of endearment usually used within families.


	5. Chapter 5: Kithoi Ward, Citadel

**To Find The Sea**

**Part I: The Cruelest Month**

**Kithoi Ward, Citadel**

The upper floor of the Old Earth styled restaurant on the Citadel was packed with familiar faces, human and not. Ashley didn't care to try and remember their names. She recognized the politicians, the diplomats, and the bureaucrats from their suffocating displays of shallow sympathies. This memorial wasn't about remembering Shepard, it was about forgetting her. She had exiled herself to a dim corner booth with a roughly scratched table top, gripping a gold rum until her knuckles turned white. The beer selection was awful.

"In the old days on Tuchanka, my clan would feast to the honor of our fallen for seven days," Wrex said easing his hulking shape into the booth. "Some people even believed children conceived on those days inherited part of the spirit of the dead. My mother used to brag that she carried the soul of one of the most powerful shamans of her age within her."

Ashley made no indication she was even listening to the old krogan.

"Don't know what squishy little space apes think about souls and the afterlife," he persisted.

There was a long pause where Wrex thought the better of smashing her head into the table.

"Didn't think cranky aging space monsters had a spiritual side," she finally said.

Wrex chuckled. He was relieved to hear the usual gruffness in her voice.

"Tell anyone and I'll kill you."

She let the corners of her mouth turn up at that. They had settled into a comfortable routine of verbal sparring in their time aboard the Normandy together. She would call him a mindless barbarian, good for little more than destruction and wanton aggression. To which Wrex would respond that only a kindred spirit could truly appreciate the krogan, and half-jokingly propose marriage. Each time, he would come up with more and more ridiculous dowries: A thousand varren cocks, body paints made from the livers of her enemies, or (her personal favorite) a private and secluded menstruating cave.

"My prince."

He poured half his glass down a gaping, lipless gullet. The liquor he had ordered, if it even was that, looked something like drive-core coolant. While he wiped the residue on his forearm, Ashley was thankful the krogan learned enough of their customs not to follow up with his typical booming belch.

"Anyway, what I meant to say is I'm starving. There isn't even any fish on that snack table. What do you say we get our little gang together and get us a real dinner? Toast to the good times, heh? My treat. You, me, Garrus, Tali, Chakwas, Liara, Joker—"

"I'm not going _anywhere_ with that asshole."

"Look, I'll admit I never found the guy very funny. But he's—"

"An amoral sack of shit."

Wrex glanced back across the room at the pilot, shifting uncomfortably in a wheelchair. That distinctive air of cocksure arrogance had morphed into a piteous cloud of guilt. He realized that Doctor Chakwas was the only other crewmember Joker had allowed to speak to him that day.

"You give him that black eye he's got?"

"Yeah. And a shattered cheek bone."

"Hmm…"

"'Hmm', what?"

"'Hmm' nothing. Can't a krogan just make a noise?"

The floodgates suddenly opened. Ashley held her head in her heads, digging her nails into the straight, dull hair she had pulled sloppily back into a knot at the nape of her neck. She let out a long gut-wrenching sob, completely unaware of the thick liquid that had started to drip from her nose.

"He's never done a damn thing for the good of the galaxy, Wrex. Not without Shepard ordering him to first. Why isn't she the one mourning _his_death? Why does he get to go on with the rest of us?"

"I don't know," he said, awkwardly holding a thin paper napkin to her face to try and catch the fluids that were leaking out. It took her a few seconds to understand his gesture before she crumpled the thing in her hands and pressed it into her nose.

"She gave me something to believe in. She gave me a purpose. She was going to teach me how to be better."

He could think of a thousand things to say to her in that moment. He would have to tell her later; the anger was good, it would keep her sane for now. But hidden behind that rage was something that frightened him. Ashley had convinced herself she was in need of a savior. She might never forgive Shepard, or herself, for being mortal.

* * *

_Author's Note:_ What really inspired this interpretation of Ashley for me is Gnarls Barkley's song "Who's Gonna Save My Soul Now?". Sad, beautiful, angry, and a little philosophical.


	6. Chapter 6: Trikala, Thessia

**To Find The Sea**

**Part I: The Cruelest Month**

**Trikala, Thessia**

"I have a meeting later tonight, so I might be late for dinner."

Lamia Tevos' lavender skin glistened as she toweled herself off in the drawing room of her stately high-rise apartment. It was Lamia's place to do as she liked, but Liara always hated the way she walked around dripping wet after one of her epically long morning showers.

She was curled up on an oversized modular sofa, drinking her morning tea and browsing the galaxy's headlines on her personal data pad. Lamia had the most eclectic taste in modern furniture and, thanks to the shrewd mind for business she inherited from her family, could afford more of it than most on a civil-servant salary.

"Delegations of Cyone matriarchs are scheduled to arrive this afternoon. I've known some rather talkative matriarchs in my time, but these are among the absolute worst," she continued while browsing confusedly through her wardrobe. Lamia was always traveling and owned at least three apartments on Thessia, the Citadel, and a private space station in the Horse Head Nebula. She could never remember what attire she kept where. "Just hours and hours of platitudes followed by questions followed by empty speeches on age and wisdom."

"My poor darling. You need someone to come home to and comfort you after such long exhausting days," Liara smiled as she walked into the bedroom and leaned against the doorway.

"Well, as a matter of fact, I do. I've got this pretty young thing I've been keeping in my apartment back on Thessia."

"Oh?"

"I keep trying to spoil her rotten with expensive gifts, yet all she wants to do is cook my meals and keep me warm at night."

"She sounds lovely."

Liara's eyes trailed the smoothness of Lamia's shoulders as she threw off her towel and stepped into a silky blue under tunic.

"Oh she is. Kind, intelligent, modest, and less than half my age, too. If I didn't know any better, I'd whisk her away to some paradise and make her my bond mate."

Liara dipped her head sadly, thinking of their conversation after their first clumsy encounter following Shepard's memorial service. She had just wanted to feel something, anything, other than that lonely ache. Liara was not mourning the loss of a would-be lover, as some had suspected. They were racist imbeciles, for whom even the smallest courtesy from an asari was proof they were out to seduce the galaxy. The two of them meant something entirely different to each other. They were parts of the same soul; a soul now condemned to languish in cruel separation.

"But she's got her own path in life. Soon she'll grow tired of her little domestic detour, and leave me far behind."

"Are you sure she's not just using you to push her own agenda about impending galactic doom?" Liara asked teasingly.

"She might like to think she's doing that, too. These young asari always have a taste for the dramatic."

Lamia pulled on her simple white dress and motioned for Liara to help her with the top clasp at the back. Liara stole the chance to tickle the base of her neck with gentle kisses.

"But she doesn't need me for any of that either. She just hasn't found the will within herself to make it happen on her own just yet."

So many nights, when Liara was sick with sorrow, Lamia would tell her that although Shepard had been strong, she was not her strength. One day, she might start believing that.

Years of burying herself in her research, the one thing she could depend on not to leave her, had left her more comfortable with the idea of being alone than she should have been. Being on the Normandy, with someone who could appreciate the importance of her work, reminded her of the ideals she used to care so deeply about: solidarity, compassion, justice. What was more, they _needed_ her.

"Anybody can pick up a gun and shoot things," Shepard had told her once in the Normandy's training room. She had insisted on giving Liara some basic defense skills following her rescue on Therum. "So don't get too good at it. There's already a severe shortage of gentle hearts in the galaxy. We can't have you wasting yours."

_And now this gentle heart is broken._ _So what do I do?_

"Please tell me you won't spend all day in that dusty old library," came Lamia's voice, lifting her from the void of her own thoughts. "The weather has been so nice lately. At least do some of your reading on the beach."

Liara nodded as Lamia leaned in to place a gentle kiss on her forehead. A few moments later, she found herself alone and staring listlessly out the window. As much as she treasured the time she spent here, there lay difficult choice just on the horizon.

A message from one of the few colleagues she could count on to help her in her research appeared on her data pad. The time she had left was much shorter than she thought.


	7. Chapter 7: Suto District, Omega

**To Find The Sea**

**Part I: The Cruelest Month**

**Suto District, Omega **

"Found what you're looking for?" the greasy batarian asks me. Smirking.

I hold a young human's face in my gloved hands, pushing locks of black curls out of her large round eyes. Her long black dress, cut out at the abdomen and around the hips, just barely touches the floor. Her make up is thick, accentuating her fleshy lips and elongating the dark lashes of her eyes. I inhale her scent. Sweat. Prophylactics. Heavy perfume.

This is a boy.

The three of us stand in a dimly lit lounge above a grubby casino. The locals call this ward the Red Light District. I understand enough of what that means. But this is Omega. There are no lines, no borders, that separate one horror from another.

"How old are you?"

"Fifteen," he says. He is smiling, but I feel the fear and hesitation pumping in his veins.

"What's your name?"

He looks past me, back at Swelter. When his gaze returns, he twists the corners of his mouth into a mischievous grin.

"Whatever my turian wants it to be."

His voice is high and lilting. He has been taught. I conceal my shudder as I think about how well.

I lean in to whisper into his left ear.

"You face the other way now and close your eyes."

He does not understand. But he does what he's told. Oh, yes. He has been taught _very_ well.

I turn back to Swelter.

"Kid's a bit shy. Never had one of you before," he says. "But you look like a man who might appreciate that."

"I certainly do."

My arm shoots through the air. My closed fist crashes into his throat. My training has molded me into a creature of controlled and deadly strength. But that is not the creature I am today. I am become something feral, something unchained. Something new.

He is sprawled across the rough grey carpet. He is slow and stupid. His hands shake as he reaches for his sidearm.

I remove my gloves, dropping them to the floor.

Swelter points the barrel at my gut.

"You sure you want to do that?" I taunt.

_Click. Click. Click._

His four eyes gape at me. His jaw drops.

I pull the clips from my breast pocket, dangling them tantalizingly before tucking them back in.

"Just take my credits. Take the kid too. Just take them." He pleads.

I look over at the boy. His back is to me, his arms folded over his head. He is breathing heavily. I smell the piss trickling down his leg.

I want to savor Swelter's gasps for breath as my boot slams over and over into his ribs. I want to smash his kneecaps, break his arms, and break his fat little fingers. I want to feel the soft ooze of ripped tissue beneath my talons as I slice them across his face. I want to constrict the air from his lungs long enough for him to think he's near death, then release him so that I may begin his torment anew.

I am not sure how much time has passed. He's stopped begging for me his life. He's not dead, not yet anyway. He will live in wordless agony for only a little while longer.

I approach the boy. Cringing and humming a simple tune. I gently place a blood soaked hand on his shoulder as I slowly spin him around.

"What's your name?" I repeat.

"S-s-s…Stephanie."

He sends a nervous glance to the mound of gore behind me. He vomits on my already soiled boots. I try to hold his hair back as he wretches.

"You got a home?" I ask when I think his stomach has emptied its contents.

He shakes his head. Another heave expels thin yellow bile.

"Me neither."

"You g-g-gonna sell me?"

"Sell you?"

Before I can start to explain, he raises a skinny little leg to weakly knee me in the groin. I make no attempt to catch him before he storms out the back.

And now I am alone. Standing in the blood of my rebirth. Stained by the fear of an innocent.

I feel alive.

I feel undone.

I feel liberated.

I feel nothing.

* * *

_Author's Note:_ This may sound grim, but this chapter has been my favorite to write so far. =)


	8. Chapter 8: In That Bright Land

**To Find The Sea**

**Part I: The Cruelest Month**

**Crossroads with Lakshmi Pune, Alliance News Network **

_Evgeny: What I am saying is that this business of co-opting Sarah Shepard's legacy is getting out of hand. She can't be the poster child for a galactic new order _and_ a revolutionary for the human isolationists._

_Lakshmi: So who has the better claim?_

_Evgeny: The reality is that the Commander was one of these rare people that belong to the abstract. Not the Alliance, not the Council, nor even her own home colony could say without a doubt that they had her loyalty. Now that she is dead, and we have every reason to believe she is in fact that, people are finding her much easier to control. And a hell of a lot easier to dilute._

* * *

**In That Bright Land**

She woke to the sound of a low rumbling voice humming a long-forgotten tune and the warmth of an orange sun on her cheeks. Her eyes flickered open, the shapes of thick tall trees and rolling mountains on the horizon becoming clearer through the haze in her head. A faint fog lingered around her, the cool air tickling her skin. A delicate breeze carried the scent of freshly fallen rain on fertile ground. Birdsong and soft flowing water saturated her ears.

She knew this place. Home, and yet not home.

"I'm just a poor wayfaring stranger," he sang. "Traveling through this world of woe…"

She had been sleeping on the floorboards of a well-worn Whitehall rowboat. A man in tweed slacks and crisp white linen shirt sat at the oars, pulling them at a leisurely pace down the deep blue river. His sleeves rolled up to his elbow revealed his strong browned forearms. A straw hat tipped downwards across his face hid his features with shadows cast by the gleaming sun. She knew this man. She knew this song. Tears of joy and fleeting sorrow fill her eyes.

They told her that he had burned to death.

She watched the flames that engulfed their town burn out that night. The raiders had used the fires to herd them all out into an open area. She and the other children used to kick balls around in that little patch of dirt and grass in their hapless attempts at organized athletics. The raiders used it to separate the potential profits from the would-be losses. They piled the latter into bloody heaps.

"Daddy?"

She had not been home with him. She had snuck out to a party down by the lake soon after he began his nightly routine of nursing a bottle of cheap whisky and passing out to the sound of his doleful blues records. When the raiders had finally found their little group and dragged them out to their makeshift sorting station, they had the chance to see those members of their family who had been slaughtered for trying to resist.

Holly had vomited when she saw her little brother. Sumitra had screamed and tried to run to her mother's body before one of them began to beat her. The three of them had clung to each other as they were thrown into one of the cargo containers.

Sumitra's lungs had been punctured. She died in their arms, unable to find enough breath in the quickly crowding space only a few hours later. When the cargo transports docked, she and Holly were chained together and transferred to the belly of a decrepit merchant ship that stank of human piss and human shit. Holly refused the meager rations they were given. She wouldn't even speak, only staring absently at the floor. During those few days, with her last surviving companion's slowly dwindling form cradled in her lap, she stupidly imagined her father had escaped. Maybe he had even found help. He would be coming for her.

"And there's no sickness, toil, or danger in that bright land to which I go…"

But he had died in the basement of their rundown little farmhouse, probably too drunk to find his way out. If he even had woken up at all.

"I'm only going over Jordan. I'm only going over home."

But now he was sitting here with her, free of his gruesome self-torment. Young, handsome, and whole again. She moved forward to embrace him. He held her fast, squeezing so tight she thought she might burst.

"Sarah, my baby girl," he sighs. "I'm so sorry."

"I know. But you got nothing to be sorry about."

"Because you've always been so damn grown up. Mama leaves us and you become mama enough for us both."

"I was never angry with you, not really. I just wanted you to be happy again."

"It's alright, honey. I'm better now."

"I always loved you, Daddy."

They sat there like that for what seemed like hours. He kept humming his song and threading his fingers through her dark, wavy hair.

"You can't stay here."

He choked back a sob.

"You're my baby. But you were never really mine alone. They won't understand what they're asking of you, but you do what you have to do. And don't you come back here till it's done."

She pulled away from him to see those vibrant blue eyes that always made her freeze in awe. And while he held her by the throat and pushed her into the cold water to hold her down beneath the current, she never broke their gaze. She thrashed her arms and tried to kick herself free of his grip. As the blackness closed in, her lungs filled with something unexpected.

_I'm breathing._

A smooth feminine voice rises to her ears.

"Welcome back, Commander Shepard."

* * *

[1] The song is country/gospel classic called The Wayfaring Stranger. Its been sung by many famous musicians, but your humble author is most drawn to the Neko Case version. Johnny Cash is a very close second. =)


	9. Chapter 9: Brussels, Earth

**Author's Note: **Simplified the political background story to be more in line with canon. My interpretation of Cerberus will be less in line with canon. I like bad guys with a better talent for public manipulation. =)

* * *

**To Find The Sea**

**Part I: The Cruelest Month**

**Headline Tonight, Alliance News Network**

_The riots on Arcturus Station have entered their third day following reports of disappearing colonies across human space. The Liberty Port protestors, who had staged the initial sit-in to pressure Parliament to swift and serious action over the disappearing colonies, will continue their demonstrations though they are adamant their members have remained nonviolent. The protestors condemn what they call the "co-option and exploitation" of their cause by anti-alien and anarchist groups and individuals._

_The normally reclusive Cerberus organization has taken an active role in hosting mediations between the nonviolent protest leaders and Parliament. However, many members of the ruling Social Democracy coalition remain wary of Cerberus' efforts. The coalition says there is sufficient evidence to suggest the organization's involvement in a number of illegal activities including arms smuggling, drug labs, alien trafficking, and violations of bio-ethic conventions._

_Representatives from Cerberus have repeatedly denied all such allegations._

* * *

**Brussels, Earth**

"How did this happen?" Ashley grumbled as she sat with her hands folded in the briefing room.

Admiral David Anderson leaned back in his chair, inhaling deeply. It seemed like he had aged nearly a hundred years in the span of only a few. His hair was almost completely gray, now. The lines on his face had grown longer and deeper, like tree bark. He looked like he hadn't had a chance to shave in days.

"It was our own damn fault. We should have insisted the Reaper reports be made public from the beginning," he sighed.

The leaks were hitting the news, and the public, hard. Confidence in the current Alliance leadership had already been in decline since Terra Firma had won their little war for hearts and minds against the Council after the Battle. With the new reports of disappearing outposts and unauthorized colonies pouring in, the rumors of an unmet hostile alien race had grown stronger. And so had the number of xenophobic political parties deciding to join the Terra Firma charter.

"There is no right or wrong in this, David," said his colleague. "Public reaction to a threat like this would never have gone over smoothly."

Outside of this room, it was rare to hear Ambassador Udina speak so gently. The man should have done something productive with his life and become an actor, Ashley thought. At least then the audience might be more appreciative of the way he slipped from one man into another.

"Maybe you're right. But I can't help but feel like we've gone and fed the paranoia by staying silent."

"We barely understand the Reapers as it is, even with all the resources Parliament and the Council have given us to investigate. No good could come from sharing shaky conjectures and untested theories with the general populace. The pundits would have a field day!"

"They've got the scent of blood now, though. They think we have the answers and we don't."

"The reports about the missing colonies…people are describing things…" Ashley muttered. "The survivors keep describing these hive-like ships. Like the one that attacked us…"

"That was the work of the Collectors. Not Reapers."

"What if its true? That Shepard didn't really die? That Reapers found her? That this woman on Arcturus is really her? They might have captured her, tortured her, turned her into one of their agents like Saren…"

"Hey, hey, Williams. Calm down," Anderson said. He stroked her hand soothingly, trying to chase away the panic in her eyes. "Its not her. It never is, it never will be."

"But what if—"

"I know the last one seemed pretty convincing, but it didn't take that long to find out her real name and where she came from. And trust me, this one isn't nearly as good."

Ashley suppressed a shudder, thinking of the nightmares that plagued her sleep. She would be back on the Normandy, feeling its cold recycled air sweep across her skin over her thin blue casuals. Her bare footsteps would softly echo against the empty walls. Everyone was gone. And then there would come the ghastly groan of the ship as it was ripped apart. She would rush to the evac shuttle, finding each one locked in turn. In the last, she could see through a small window Shepard's figure, frozen inside her hardsuit. Her skin was gone, leaving only a blackened skeleton. But those fierce blue eyes were still alive.

"You're right, you're right." She said, coming back to herself. "Its just a distraction. We have bigger problems to solve."

The greatest woman she had ever known was dead. She could not stop thinking Shepard had been the lucky one after all.


	10. Chapter 10: Kima District, Omega

**To Find The Sea**

**Part I: The Cruelest Month **

**Kima District, Omega**

"The desire for vengeance is a prickly thing," Shepard had said to Garrus one day in the Normandy's armory. "No matter how justified you are, hubris almost always takes over."

"Wanting justice is hubris?"

"Vengeance and justice are not the same thing. The hubris of revenge is the thinking that somehow _you_ are the one who deserves the satisfaction of dealing it. As though _you_ were the only victim."

"What does it matter? If the scumbag is dead—"

"No one person should ever wield that kind of power."

"Come on, if you get the opportunity to make sure a bad guy never harms anyone ever again you have to take it."

"See that's the thing about the really bad guys: they never stop harming."

The pain that had filled her voice made his soul ache.

"They get caught, they get convicted, they rot their lives away in prison or get executed. You're relieved they won't make anyone else suffer the way you have, but you still have to suffer all the same. Everyday, you live with the knowledge that –"

"Shepard?" he interrupted softly as her lips trembled and water began to pool in her eyes. He wanted to touch her, to still the quaking in her customarily sturdy form. But as soon as he said her name, her surname, it was like she had been lifted out of a trance.

"You're a rare creature, Vakarian. You care about protecting the innocent and punishing the wicked because that's who you are at your very core. People like me? We care because it happened to us."

Garrus had never wished so badly to know the kind of suffering that she did. He wanted her to know she wasn't alone, that he could protect her from the weight of it all, that he had the strength to make things right.

He came crashing out of his memories as he opened the trunk of their rusting yellow car to see the squirming captive. The floor of the stinking compartment was nearly coated with the sebaceous fluids that issued forth from the ghastly burns on his torso.

Melanis grabbed the ropes that restrained the batarian's arms painfully behind his back, pulling him up to his feet. Butler and Sidonis shoved the man towards a lonely creaking chair in the middle of the deserted warehouse. Garrus motioned for them to remove his gag and blindfold while he shone a blindingly bright lamp into his graying face. The batarian's golden eyes squinted uncomfortably. He rolled his head to one side to wipe the drool that had dripped down his chin on the ripped fabric covering his shoulder.

"Kron Harga."

The batarian made no indication he had just heard his name spoken.

"Kron Harga."

Nothing.

"KRON HARGA!"

The predatory tones in Garrus' vocals signaled the return of the beast he had birthed just over a year and a half ago over the corpse of a not so different batarian. It was a ravenous and bloodthirsty animal he had since unleashed a hundred times over.

"What do you want?" he screamed back.

"We want to absolve you of your sins, slaver," said Melanis. The mandibles on his disfigured white face flared in a frightening excitement.

"And who are you to pass judgment on me?"

Harga could make out the silhouette of another batarian at Garrus' side. He recognized that steady gait and the way his arms fell coolly by his side.

"We have been given permission to act on behalf of those you have forced into bondage," came the other batarian's deep and quiet voice. "We will exact the price for your transgressions. Should you choose to aid your soul by confessing to us, we may lessen your pain."

"Grundan Krul…should've known better a self-righteous bastard like you wouldn't die so easily. How many eyes did we leave you with this time? Because I want to pluck the last one out with my bare hands."

The hard kick of Garrus two-toed boot struck Harga square in the chest. The back of his head hit the ground with a wet smack and his legs dangled on the overturned chair they had tied him to.

"Get fucked," the prisoner spat between coughs.

Two hours later, Harga was a mess of blood and broken teeth. Three of his eyes were almost completely swollen shut. His arms impossibly bent. Several of his fingers lay rotting on the dirty warehouse floor beneath him.

Butler gave him another stim injection, trying to keep him awake and coherent. Grundan and Melanis were quietly piecing together the bits of information they were able to extract, discussing their strategy for freeing the unsold slaves in Harga's inventory house.

"Do you think he gave us good intel?" Sidonis asked as Garrus began checking their pistols.

"As good as he has. A lieutenant like that might know a lot, but he's still just a pawn."

"We should let Grundan have this one."

"Its not his responsibility to bear alone. Its all of ours."

"I just thought since they had history, you know."

"I know."

They removed the chair from underneath Harga, forcing him back to his feet and positioned him against the wall. His head drooped lazily and he swayed from side to side. He was aware of what was happening, but vainly fought the blackness that called to him.

_I love you, Sarah. IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou. _


	11. Chapter 11: Lazarus Research Station

**Author's Note: **Some people may find this chapter, which deals with the memories of a suicide attempt and self harm, to be triggering. I've tried to handle it with the utmost sensitivity. Your comments and criticism are always welcome!

* * *

**To Find The Sea**

******Part I: The Cruelest Month**

**Lazarus Research Station**

Standing under the rushing hot water I turn my hands over, watching the blood pump into my fingers and tingeing them with pink. My feet have turned a bright red.

I trace the rough scars on my chest and on my cheeks. I feel where the stitches in my scalp have begun to dissolve. I lather the soap in my hands and rub it gently over my naked form. I want to see strands of my hair swirl around the drain, the way I almost always gagged at the thought of them clogging the pipes. But there is nothing.

When I have scrubbed every inch of my body and my skin begins to prune, I turn off the water. I step out of the blazingly white glass stall and wrap a scratchy powder blue towel around me, tucking it into place above my breasts. I have been afraid to look at myself in the mirror, but neither am I able to look away when I finally catch the gaunt apparition before me.

Putting back on the weight and muscle I had lost will be an irritating task. Yet part of me looks forward to the punishing routine. Maybe I will have an easier time sculpting my thighs, the great bane of my old physique. It had not been that long ago I came to accept my pear-shaped silhouette. I will be devastated if they have changed that about me.

My face is like a hollow stone carving. It is smoother than I remember, save for the lines where my skin has yet to heal. My straight nose looks more protruding on this thin figure. Light freckles still dot the bridge. My lips are still full and pale, the corners slightly down turned.

My eyebrows will grow back, they told me. I hope they will still be thick and bold. I wonder if my hair will still be the chestnut brown I always despaired over; if it will still wave wildly and need to be tamed with expensive oil treatments.

At least my eyes are still the same color. _His _color. I will ask my caretakers to bring me an assortment of kohl liners. Seeing how much money they have already spent rebuilding me, I think I can ask them for one of the luxury brands. I would not feel like myself without waking up every morning to decorate them.

Suddenly, I stop. I look down in horror at my wrists. How could I have missed it? How could I not have looked for them first? I hear a piteous cry escape my mouth. My chest heaves. I begin to tremble and shake all over.

Where are they? Where are they? I need them back.

After the loud crash, the nurses come rushing in to find me on the floor with small shards of glass stuck in my knuckles. The blood is pooling around me. The sharp edges of the larger remains of the mirror dig into my fingers. I try desperately to carve a deep enough wound into each of my wrists. But my hands are unsteady. I cannot make the same clean cuts as I had done for the originals.

They pin back my hands and wrest the bloody tools from me. I scream and I spit at them. They drag me naked and writhing from the bathroom. One of them is reaching for a syringe, directing the others to hold me as still as possible.

"What were you trying to do, Shepard?" the shapely brunette chides me. "Do you want to die again?"

"You put them back, you put those scars back! You had no right to take them from me!" I howl, feeling a hazy rush of sleep creep up on me.

I think I see something resembling sympathy in her face. She sighs heavily, rubbing her temples. The others are saying something to her, but I'm not listening.

I am sixteen again, sitting in an Alliance military hospital explaining to a gray haired doctor why I wanted to die. I tell her I see their bloody faces when I sleep, I hear their screams when I'm awake. I should not have survived. I was one of the weaker ones. Why am I not dead like them? She holds my hands, kisses my fingertips the way my mother never did.

"Because the Good Lord thinks you've got more important things to do," she says.

I think I might believe her this time.

* * *

Miranda couldn't help but anxiously chew on her stylus pen. These last few weeks had made her six-year exile from smoking feel like mere days.

"Sir, these are the kinds of situations I was trying to avoid."

"Attentive medical staff poses much fewer risks than a control chip," replied the holographic man. "No, we made the right call. Shepard's state of mind may be fragile right now, but that should be a sign that things are…working properly."

She recalled the numerous bone fractures her staff had sustained in trying to restrain her. At least they knew for sure the enhancements were working properly.

"Of course, that doesn't mean I am _pleased_ with what happened. You and your team should have been able to predict this sort of reaction. People must be held accountable for their mistakes."

Miranda swallowed hard, feeling her stomach churn.

"We'll be giving Doctor Wilson primary care of Shepard from now on."

The disappointment in his icy clockwork eyes cut her like a knife and she couldn't help but look away.

"Yes, sir."


	12. Chapter 12: Lazarus Research Station

_**Author's Note:** I've been agonizing over these particular snippets because I deviate from canon. As always, let me know what you think does and does not work!_

* * *

**To Find The Sea**

**Part I: The Cruelest Month**

**Earth Prime Radio with Alan Banes**

Our protectors have compromised and bargained away our destiny to the Council, built their fortunes on the backs of the working class, and sacrificed countless lives to their gods of greed and power. They plague us with their tyranny. They suffer us into submission.

But we have uncovered their greatest secret, the truth that the Alliance has used our tax money to help conceal: the existence of devils who linger dark space. These Reaper machines revealed themselves at the Battle of the Citadel, and the Council has been in contact with them ever since.

Those charlatans in office have lied to us so well for so long that many of our fellow men were eager to believe the Alliance when they deny the veracity of the leaks. The government, the mainstream media, all the people at the top want us to think the Reapers are a myth. Still they cannot deny that our own scientists who studied the remnants of Arterius' flagship declared the technology "too advanced" to have been developed by the geth. Do they think we will ignore the evidence right in front of our eyes?

With a heavy heart I must tell you that the unwavering courage our kind demonstrated at the Battle has marked us for death. The Reaper machines want us, above all other species, eliminated. The Council has drawn up a contract with these serpents, signing it with human blood. Our existence is the price they will gladly pay to save their own.

We must unite ourselves against their treachery. We must purge the Alliance of Council puppets and spies. We must not tolerate weak and feeble minds within our ranks. We must show them our true strength. We must show them what it means to be human, what it means to be _alive_.

Now, dear listeners, let me tell you about the good people of Ariake technologies who build the finest omni-tools at prices the working class man and woman can afford…

* * *

**Lazarus Research Station **

She saw the outline of the bald headed doctor slowly enter the room through the corner of her eye. He smiled gently as he placed the plate of food on the tray table by her bed. Her keepers had kept her on a basic diet of protein shakes and intravenous nourishment until they were certain she was ready to handle solid foods.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you, Commander," he said. "I come bearing dinner."

The aroma of curried catfish and asparagus struck her and she found herself suddenly hungrier than she had originally thought.

"You've all done your research, haven't you?" she asked, cautiously unwrapping the cutlery as she tried to hide the trembling in her stiff bandaged fingers. "Damn, you even brought me pecan pie."

"Our goal is to help you regain your strength. Best way to ensure compliance, right?"

She studied his face for a moment, watching his reaction as she cut a modest bite of the fish. She closed her eyes to relish in the taste of the buttery flesh. She took her time chewing, only speaking after she had completely swallowed her morsel.

"You certainly have my compliance now," she smiled gingerly. "I am afraid I don't remember your name."

"Wilson. Doctor Craig Wilson. I'll be your primary caretaker from now on," he said taking a seat in the white armchair across from her.

"Ah, I see. That Australian woman was relieved of that duty I take it?"

"Operative Lawson is a professional woman. She knows where and when her expertise is needed."

"I bet she does."

"I take it you don't like her?"

"It doesn't matter. Forget I said anything."

He leaned forward with a gleam in his eye.

"You don't like any of us."

"I don't trust your employer," she said, pointing the dull knife at the Cerberus emblem on his white lab coat.

"Don't trust anybody. Life is safer that way."

"No heartfelt defense? You disappoint me."

"Would you listen if I had one?"

_If? _

"No."

"Then I won't waste your time with it," he grinned. "I apologize. I shouldn't have drawn you into an unpleasant dinner conversation like that."

"Oh please," she said waving her hand at him. "Everyone here is so artificially pleasant, so polite, so understanding. At least you have the decency to be terrible at those pretenses."

"Thank you, I think."

"You're very welcome."

His unblinking green eyes watched her as she finished her plate. It had barely taken her ten minutes to consume the entire meal, pie and all. She would have to work on getting back to her famous "five minute face stuff".

"Doctor," she heard her voice crack. "Please…help me get out of this room."


	13. Chapter 13: Lazarus Research Station

**To Find The Sea**

**Part I: The Cruelest Month **

**Lazarus Research Station **

The suffocating smell of burnt wires and charred metal almost made Miranda want to vomit. Blood and brain matter was splattered against the far wall of the docking bay control tower. The bodies of three engineers were slumped on the floor in a neat little row. She knew he had spent his off hours playing cards with them; Jones, Omar, and the one they called Big Pete. He made them all drop to their knees before he shot them in the back of the head.

Miranda limped her way past the execution site to the transport hold, ignoring the pain in her ribs that makes breathing ever more excruciating. She let out a slight sigh of relief as she saw through the sweat soaked hair that continuously fell over her eyes that he was there. And his cargo had yet to be loaded on the shuttle. Miranda raised her sidearm in both hands, her right arm still trembling from the force of the biotic throw she had used on that last security mech.

"Step away from the container, Wilson."

The man stood dazed for a moment before voluntarily lifting both hands above his head.

"I said step away from the container."

He turned slowly to face her, putting that contemptible smirk on his overly groomed face. It occurred to her in that moment just how small a man he truly was.

"Daddy's gonna be really disappointed when he finds out about—"

The words had barely escaped his throat before the bullet interrupted him. His body jerked from the impact and his eyes bulged in horror as life flowed abundantly from the wound in his neck. She shot a second round into his heart and then a third. If it hadn't been for Jacob's sudden arrival, she might have kept shooting.

He wasted no time in assessing the scene, holstering his gun while he rushed to the cryo container still waiting on the forklift. He breathed in deeply through his nose and let it pass slowly from his lips. He punched in the code to release the seal and hurriedly lifted the plastic lid. A thin cloud of vapor rose from the tank, revealing Shepard's still living form inside.

"Is she alright?" Miranda finally asked, keeping her eyes fixed on the bloody mess at her feet.

"She's alright, she's alright. Probably the best sleep she's had in a long while."

"There should be a first aid blanket in that shuttle. Get her up and make sure she's buckled in safe. We're leaving."

"There might still be survivors."

"There aren't."

"We should at least do a sweep before—"

"Everyone is dead. They served honorably and we'll make sure their families are given their last wages and then some. But we have to leave. Now."

"Yes, ma'am."

She didn't have time to analyze what the tone in his voice meant. She climbed into the pilot's compartment to enter the coordinates of their destination.

For most of the past year and a half, Miranda had been happy here. Or as close to happy as she thought she could ever be. It was the most important assignment she had ever been given, the most trust anyone had ever put in her. The people under her authority didn't love her, but they respected her. They were proud to be a part of her team, succeeding where no one thought they ever could. He had taken so much of that away from her. Yet all she could feel was annoyance at having to destroy such a priceless facility. But it didn't matter, she told herself, she had all the data they needed. Everything else could be replaced.

"Come on Shepard, time to wake up," Jacob said. "Time to get up, girl."

"Hey," Shepard garbled. "Didn't we…didn't we just…do this…one?"


	14. Chapter 14: Precinct 5, Arcturus Station

**To Find The Sea**

**Part I: The Cruelest Month**

**Precinct 5, Arcturus Station**

Ashley sat in Interview Room 3 going over the arrest sheet.

_Disorderly conduct, property damage, possession of illicit hallucinogens…_

With every minute that passed, her heart rate rose with the nervous anticipation building in her chest. The dream that had brought her here rested uneasily behind her eyes.

They were in orbit over Virmire. Shepard, in all her uniformed glory, was standing in the comm room with the sickly blue pallor of death slowly fading from her face.

"…_my call to make, Ash."_

"_I won't make you regret it. I'll make his sacrifice worth it, I promise."_

Suddenly she felt feel a cold rush of ice shoot through her veins, her skin and muscle shriveled away. She looked at Shepard, her uniform melting away like wax. The breath in her lungs froze solid as blackness enveloped her.

"_I know you will."_

She nearly jumped as the door opened and the guards lead the ragged woman in. With fresh images of a live Shepard still in her head, she instinctually rose to her feet. The woman looked at her from behind a tangle of dark brown hair with a smug grin.

"At ease soldier!" she said before flopping into the chair across from the Operations Chief. Ashley was relieved to see she looked nothing like Shepard. She was at least ten years older and three inches shorter. Her voice was raspy, and like her body, had been withered by years of substance abuse. Patches of purple discoloration marked the skin on her arms.

"Didn't realize I had friends in such high places. Maybe these boys and girls in blue will show me a little more respect next time, eh?"

"Who are you?"

"Shouldn't you know already?"

"I want you to tell me."

"I prefer to be known as Sage Soul-Sparrow."

Ashley snorted.

"When you were arrested, you claimed your name was Oxana and that you were a milk maid from Lithuania."

"And I was, then. Oxana is one of the many lost spirits that I allow access to my body. She's still very angry about being dead, likes to smash things about after a few drinks."

"I hate to break it to you, but I think she imbibed more than just alcohol."

The woman smirked as she shrugged her shoulders.

"If you're here to talk about the dead, you'll have to get my tarot deck from custody. I usually charge 75 an hour, but post my bail and I'll be happy to give you customer credit."

Ashley's eyes burned holes into the woman.

"Tell me about Commander Sarah Shepard."

"Ah. Should've figured that might be why you're here," she said. Her scowling face softened and her reddened blue eyes grew glassy. "You knew her?"

"I watched her die," she said coldly. It felt like the truth.

"Then I'm sorry. Never meant to hurt anyone. I just really needed the money."

"The money?"

"Some people pay good money to talk to her. Like to feel connected to someone important, you know? I don't like it, though. People expect too much. They don't understand Shepard-"

"_Commander_ Shepard."

"_Commander_…They don't understand _Commander_ Shepard isn't an easy soul to host. Nearly killed me last time, felt like she was holding me underwater. I won't do it no more. Not worth it."

Her mind went back to her dream. She could feel Shepard's heart beating, hear her shallow breaths, smell the spices in her sweat. She looked again at that woman in the room with her, cringing at her dirty fingernails and sickly arms. A sense of humiliation washed over her as Anderson's words came back.

_Its not her, and it never will be._


	15. Chapter 15: Location Unknown

**To Find The Sea**

**Part I: The Cruelest Month**

** Location Unknown**

His hand felt rough and smooth all at the same time. He held hers for exactly the appropriate length of time before smiling politely, inviting her to take a seat in one of his luxurious leather armchairs and courteously offering her food and drink. He was a fine figure in his designer jacket and expensive shoes. Just the right amount of stubble around a strong refined jaw, salt and pepper hair neatly combed, fingernails trimmed and clean. His cologne mixed intoxicatingly with the smell of cigarette smoke. Perfectly mannered, perfectly manicured, perfectly unsettling. She couldn't imagine Miranda fretting about like a maid for anything less.

"Operative Lawson has probably told you how rare it is for me to meet anyone so up close and personal," he said taking his seat. The light from the spectacular view of the dying red dwarf his base orbited around framed him like a god on his throne. "I'm a very cautious man, some say a little too cautious. But even I can't always predict where the danger will come from next. So you have my heartfelt apology for the ordeal you suffered with Doctor Wilson. We won't let it happen again."

The ordeal she suffered. There wasn't much to suffer. One moment she was happily eating a second helping of spaghetti Bolognese and the next thing she knew she was freezing cold and being cradled by a dashing young military man telling her everything was fine now. She was almost sorry to have missed all the carnage. But the why, the why of everything these people had done, was her greatest concern.

"We can talk about your personnel issues another time," she said, taking a cup of tea from the tray Miranda carried. "I want to know why I'm here, why you brought me back."

"Of course you do." He lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. "Entire human colonies are disappearing; colonies that the Alliance can't officially recognize because they're too close to batarian space. We have good reason to believe the Collectors, those things that killed you and destroyed your ship, are behind it. The Alliance can't… won't… stop them, so we have to."

"So dispatch your little shadow army and do it. You don't need me."

"Our private and perfectly legal security forces, all dedicated to defense, mind you, have disappeared right alongside all the civilians on the colonies that have been hit."

"And? Where does the part about needing to bring an Alliance soldier back from the dead come in?"

"Barely a few months after the discovery of an ancient machine race intent in wiping out all organic life, a mysterious alien race starts targeting the species largely responsible for the destruction of its gatekeeper? I can't imagine they'd be anything but connected."

She nearly dropped her cup. Had the Alliance finally gone public with the Reapers? Had they found out enough to reassure the public they could protect them? It had been nearly a week since she had woken up, and in that time she had gathered only small bits of information about the world she had left behind. The answers to those questions frightened her.

"You're surprised I know about that," he said. "I know a great deal of things that concern humanity's welfare."

"I failed in the end, didn't I? I failed to make them care, to make them see that we had to unite against something greater."

"Unity is a farce, Commander. Diversity is humanity's strength. Consensus is not."

Her hands began to tremble with rage. She thought of all the words, all the tears, and all the breath she wasted trying convince Parliament and the Council that war was coming.

"My team, the ones that helped me take down Sovereign. They…"

"They were of no importance to anybody without you to link them together."

"Do they know about me? That I'm alive now, I mean."

"We've reserved the privilege of informing them to be yours and yours alone."

For that, she was grateful. The bond they all shared was unshakeable. Even when they had to go their separate ways, they vowed to use their new stations to support her. Where were they now?

"I'll spare you my interpretation of why the great powers refused to heed your warnings. Suffice to say, though, this galaxy is significantly more complicated than when you left it."

"You think I'll fly your colors? Praise your name to the masses?"

"If you did, I'd know we made a mistake."

A tortuous moment of silence passed between them.

"Will you do it, Commander Shepard? Will you rise to fight for humanity once more?"

There was a hint of mockery in his bravado that sickened her.

"I'm not a messiah you know," she said. A few silent tears rolled down her cheek. "I'm not the only one who can fight this war."

"You're right. You're not the only one," he replied. "But you're the one I want."


	16. Chapter 16: Brussels, Earth

**To Find The Sea**

**Part I: The Cruelest Month**

**Brussels, Earth**

Joker tucked his old uniform into the bottom of his duffle bag, barely glancing at the smooth navy blue fabric and silver piping as he did. Too many painful memories, too many promises unfulfilled, too many betrayals. He left the service, buried the past, stared into the barrel of a loaded pistol in his hands almost every night. The Alliance had said in all but words that his mission, Shepard's mission, was to be discarded and forgotten. Ash wouldn't even look at him. Anderson was exhausting himself trying to preserve the little the old team had left, and to no avail. He couldn't stand the way Chakwas clucked over him like a mother hen, and even if he could, she would have been of little use. Anyone else who shared his burden was far, far away, facing their own world's struggles. What kept him from pulling the trigger? What stopped him from officially quitting the land of the living?

_To fly the Normandy again._

An old acquaintance from his Academy days planted that seed almost a year and a half ago. Liara had put them back in touch, though she wouldn't say how they met. Jacob left the Alliance long ago, fed up with something or another, and joined Cerberus. He was stunned when he realized the quiet, antisocial cadet with the crutches had actually been _the_ pilot of the ship that helped take down Sovereign. In an empty Noveria sports bar, he had let him talk for hours about the Normandy; the sleek design, the subtle moans of the drive core, the genius of its stealth abilities.

Then Jacob had told him, off the record, that he was working on a project to improve on the Normandy's model. Instead of disgust at the idea of Cerberus getting their greedy hands on such a marvel, he had felt excited. If anyone could pull off that level of engineering and innovation, it would have to be done by an organization with absolutely no restraints. What Cerberus would do with it he was afraid to think about; but the possibility of seeing something _better_ than the Normandy in his lifetime was too good to ignore. He had hurriedly scribbled down every piece of contact information he could think of on a napkin, pushing it into Jacob's hand.

That morning, he finally heard back.

_Moreau, _

_Bored yet? You better be. _

_We did it! Our project is a success. We're ready to hit back at whatever is wiping out our Terminus people. _

_You're the only one who knows how to fly this ship and fly it well. We need you. _

_Jacob_

It was as if the world was born anew.

He checked the contents of the bag again, making sure he packed all of the kitschy superhero figurines his little sister sent him over the years. The past few months of civilian life had softened him, he collected a surprising amount of needless items that he was now only too happy to leave behind. Extra bed linens, three different slotted spoons, ugly floral ceramic plates, unused dust rags, the whole tiny ultra modern high rise apartment. All of it now the happy inheritance of a distant cousin coming to Brussels to complete her residency.

Good riddance, city life.

Thirty hours remained between him and the new old life he longed so piteously for. He was going to be a pilot again. More than that; he would be something closer to whole again.


	17. Chapter 17: Normandy SR2

**To Find The Sea**

**Part I: The Cruelest Month **

**Normandy SR-2, Minuteman Station **

"She's dead…I killed her…She's dead, she's dead, she's dead," he repeated as he crashed to his knees, chest heaving. All the blood rushed from his face, leaving him a ghostly pale. His whole body trembled, his green eyes, flooded with fear, fixed on her own.

"It's okay, Joker. It's okay," she said in a hushed tone. The pitiful shape recoiled from her outstretched arms, slinking back towards the entry hatch. She pushed herself back against the wall of the ship's entry corridor, trying to give him room to breathe. Doctor Chakwas and her two assistants hurried to his side, ready with a paper bag for him to breathe into and rubbing alcohol cloths to hold in front of his nose. This was the second time in a matter of days she had watched an old friend collapse at the sight of her. She shuddered to think of how many more times this scene would repeat itself.

"Shepard, you'd better wait out of sight on the crew deck for now," Chakwas cautioned. "We should get him to the med bay."

She nodded her head in compliance, feeling suddenly ashamed for the chaos she inspired. Hurrying out of the way, she shot an angry glance at Miranda who was going over more crew details with the new light-haired yeoman. One way or another, that woman was to blame.

For anything.

For everything.

Inside the elevator, she dug her nails into her now chin length hair. Behind her eyes, there lay the same unanswered question. _WHY? _She screamed into the nothing that threatened to overwhelm her, thrashing her limbs at shadowy foes. _WHY? _No matter how many times they fed her the answers they thought she'd want to hear, none of it made sense. To die, to be brought back, to bring more pain onto others, to be a hero, to be a pawn. _WHY?_

"Commander do you require assistance?" came EDI's disembodied voice.

"Make this elevator move faster," she said coldly.

"Yes, Commander."

The pause that came before EDI's reply made her think that the AI actually understood the subtext in her voice. A prospect she feared, and yet was grateful for.

When the doors finally opened, she ran to the women's bathroom to splash some cold water on her face. The shock of the difference in temperature felt soothing and she found herself running the faucet for far longer than she should have. She hadn't realized how long she had been in there until Chakwas slim figure appeared behind her.

"I should have warned you. I'm sorry," she said. "Dealing with my own…adjustment I forgot how much he blamed himself for what happened to you."

She stared back at the doctor quizzically.

"You don't remember your death, do you?"

"I remember feeling frozen, not knowing where I was, not being able to breathe. But before that…"

"Joker refused to leave the cockpit and you went back for him. He watched you get sucked out into the debris from the emergency shuttle."

"And here I am, ripping open old wounds. Forcing my way back into your lives."

"Don't get too cocky, Shepard," she teased. "Your back-from-the-dead act still has nothing on coming face to face with a Reaper. Now fix your hair, get rid of those black streaks down your eyes, and straighten out your clothes. You have a ship to command."

"Yes, ma'am."


	18. Chapter 18: Kima District, Omega

**Author's Note: **Just as general notice, in case its not already apparent, I am breaking with the established story of Garrus' time on Omega by the comic Homeworlds (which I didn't even know existed until a few hours ago!). Major plot points will be the same, but the circumstances which bring us to them will be hopefully fresh and exciting for you all!

* * *

**To Find The Sea**

**Part I: The Cruelest Month**

**Kima District, Omega**

"Our shape shifter is back," Melanis announced as he walked into the break room wiping the engine oil from his hands. The disfigured turian shot Garrus a teasing glance as the curly haired youth entered behind him.

The boy, in his tight silvery pants and cheaply embroidered vest, looked hilariously out of place in the dingy salvage shop in Kima's waste management quarter. Ripper, the team's krogan mechanic, owned the fledgling business and had made it not only their steadiest, if meager, source of income but also one of the safest places to meet with civilians. It was here, among the stench of rotting refuse and the camps of filthy strung out junkies, that Garrus found the stability he didn't even realize he missed.

"Do we have any levo food for him?" he asked, not even bothering to look up from his string of data feeds and bitter South Peak coffee.

"Why do you keep calling me a him?"

"Because you _are_ a him, Jon."

"_Jondrette. _The bird lizards have no imagination."

"There's this meat Weaver says he's giving up for the next forty days. I'm sure he won't mind sharing," Melanis said.

"He gonna give up some of his beer too? Wouldn't want it to go to waste now."

"No," Garrus said flatly. "And not one of your better attempts."

"Bet Stephanie could make you say yes."

Jondrette flirtatiously shook out his shortened locks, now streaked with orange where he had tried to bleach the strands the blonde. He pushed out his narrow hips, accentuating the slimness of his waist with his long thin fingers. His bright hazel eyes flashed a coquettish smile.

"Stephanie is retired."

Garrus could barely contain the angry snarl in his voice. He did not doubt the boy, who had delighted in the tawdry outfits that came with his profession, had trouble giving up the only trade skill he knew. Though he could not bring himself to be angry with him for continuing that line of work. Teenagers, of all species, demanded much more care and attention than Garrus could offer while pursuing his chosen path. The best he could do was make sure the boy was well fed, had a safe place to sleep, and knew he had ruthless band of vigilantes he could turn to if he needed.

"Just say the word and she'll come back to make all your dreams come true."

Melanis clicked his tongue in barely contained snicker. The boy raised a finger on each hand and tilted them toward him. Garrus laughed at the obscene human gesture.

"I can get my own liquor, anyway. Not nearly as fun though."

"Tell you what: If the instructors at the mission confirm to me you've attended school everyday this month, I'll give you a pack of smokes. Deal?"

"_Give_ me?"

"Alright, I'll look the other way while you pinch them from Weaver's locker. Better?"

"Much better."

"Spirits, Garrus," Melanis sighed. "You're such a pushover."

"Didn't just come here for the free food, though. Came to say that your man Butler isn't with his woman. She hasn't seen him since the last time he made a scene at her job."

Garrus felt the breath catch in his lungs. One look at Melanis confirmed he felt it too.

"That…is not a good sign."

Twenty two hours. No check ins, no messages, no sign of the doctor anywhere. The man had his moods, he'd drunk himself into stupors then howl and beg at his ex-wife's door to take him back a couple times. But he'd always come back the next morning. Always apologetic for "dishonoring the spirit of the team". When the men had woke earlier that morning to find Butler's bunk had not been slept in, the fear had grown.

"Call Sidonis and Grundan back. Tell them to wait back at base in case he shows. The rest of us are going to split up into teams and turn this station upside down until he's found."

One of the pack was in danger. Time for the hunt to begin.


	19. Chapter 19: Gozu District, Omega

**To Find The Sea**

**Part I: The Cruelest Month**

**Gozu District, Omega**

_Familiar patterns. Bad memories. Long days, long nights. No rest, no rest, no rest…_

"We're sure then?" asked the gangling, red haired doctor.

"Quick. Effective. Devastating," replied Mordin. "Definitely, definitely engineered."

"Fucking hell," Doctor Daniel Abrams said falling into one of the Staff Room chairs.

Mordin paced furiously up and down the length of their small gray meeting space. The sight of dead bodies, the gore, the agonies in patients' eyes were all things he had successfully learned to harden himself against. The advanced design and equipment he had secured for the clinic made it so much easier to deal with. But just outside their little bubble lingered the stench of decay, the slick putrid liquid that filled the streets from the broken sanitation pipes, the heat from the piles of unclaimed and unwanted burning dead…

"Explosion at water treatment facility likely not accidental. Plan to host our own sanitation proven very wise."

Three days of fever, coughing, and, sometimes paranoid, delirium. Severe dehydration sets in on the fourth day when the patient begins to experience thin, green diarrhea. The body is no longer to absorb or keep nutrients and wastes away for another three to eight days, depending on the species. A slow, painful, undignified death that made no distinction between rich, poor, young, old, strong or weak.

"So these are the effects of Archangel's little crusade. Weaken the mercs, and a whole new enemy rushes in to fill the vacuum."

The clinic had few dealings with the nearly mythical hero and his men. Occasionally they would deliver extra supplies from their raids, but Mordin would often refuse them. Maintaining the security of the clinic from the daily threats of the Blue Suns was a feat he was proud of, but tempting their ire by receiving their "stolen property" was a risk he was not willing to take. Daniel had always been particularly vehement about keeping the clinic independent, and Mordin was afraid he had not hidden his disdain for the vigilantes' method of " changing" Omega in subsequent correspondences.

"Archangel oddly short-sighted for someone so cautious, calculating. But not the enemy here."

Daniel sniffed at that, but subtly shook his head in agreement.

"Enemy does not realize one of galaxy's greatest minds on genetics and biological warfare and his brilliant virologist colleague already on station."

"We'll have a cure in two weeks."

"Week and a half."


	20. Chapter 20: Kenzo District, Omega

**To Find the Sea**

**Part I: The Cruelest Month**

**Kenzo District, Omega**

Six hours after the manhunt had begun, a street address showed up in Garrus' inbox. He and Melanis confirmed it was sent from Butler's omni-tool, but the link showing the tool's current location was unavailable. If the sender was indeed their missing comrade, they had no time to lose. They couldn't wait for back up, they had to act swiftly. He forwarded their destination to the rest of the team, checked Melanis' field kit, and the two of them took off.

It was an abandoned hotel, once called the Tellium, in the northwestern corner of Kenzo. An alcoholic batarian preacher, who called himself simply The Prophet, and his Congregation of the Free had dominion over the first three floors. The fourth and fifth belonged to a dockworkers union and the sixth to a shady looking asari "homeopathic medicine" practice. The higher floors had been badly damaged by a long ago fire and were boarded up after the original owners ran out of money for repairs.

It was dark, cold, and eerily silent. They could hear water dripping from the ceiling. The black imprint of flames still decorated the walls. From the obscene graffiti and ammoniac odor of multiple species' piss, it was clear that the place had at least some visitors.

"Butler?" Garrus called out. "We're here for you."

A fat red-eyed little rat ran over Melanis' boot, unleashing a string of curses from his jagged mouth. A squishing sound told them he had just stepped on a second.

"They're running toward something," Garrus said. He shone his omni-tool down the hallway to see a trail of the filthy creatures heading toward one of the rooms. As they moved closer, the stench of decomposing flesh became unmistakable. His heart pounded in his chest, filled with the fear that they had come too late.

Melanis sucked in his breath and slowly opened the creaking door. Garrus breathed a sigh of relief, and held back the bile rising from his stomach, as they took in the sight of a half skeletal salarian and its open chest. The rats crawled hungrily over the corpse, poking in and out of the gaping wound. One hand was still curled around the trigger of a rusting shotgun, besides it lay an overturned bottle of krogan whisky and a few broken empty syringes. The poor bastard had gone on one last bender before shooting himself.

"Fucking hell," Melanis gasped.

"You got enough charge in your Elanus plates?"

"Way ahead of you," he replied, patting one of the pieces on his shoulder. A ball of flame shot out from Melanis' left hand, sending rats screeching and scurrying across the floor. The mandibles on his bone white face twitched with satisfaction. Leaving nothing for the rats to consume was the smallest kindness they could perform for the salarian.

Suddenly, the sound of human screams came echoing through the hallway. They rushed towards the sound with their guns cocked, prepared to take down the enemy quickly and brutally.

"Butler!"

They followed the screams all the way down, finding a room with a door shut tight. Melanis heaved the weight of his shoulder into the door, then a second and a third time until the thing gave way. On the floor, with flashing blue and orange lights, lay the source of the sound. Not a man, but a holographic recording of man being flayed alive.

_Thomas Butler…_

Suspended from the ceiling by hooks into the flesh of his back and shoulders, the bloody skin from his arms hung down like pieces of leather. His dirty bare feet dangled only a few inches off the ground. His naked form was covered in black bruises and dried blood. Wide hazel eyes stared lifelessly back at them.

Something like a half whimper, half roar escaped from Garrus' throat, a turian sound of mourning. His gloved hand shook as he brought them to the dead man's face, gently closing his eyelids. Melanis's trembled with rage as he picked the broken omni-tool off the floor, fumbling for a way to make the terrible noise stop.

The cries from the recording became fainter as three new faces stepped in front of the camera. A red and white faced salarian, flanked by a bulky batarian and a slobbering yellow skinned krogan, began to speak. Eclipse, Blue Suns, and Blood Pack.

"We're coming to clip your wings, Archangel."


	21. Chapter 21: Maratu District, Omega

**Author's Note: **My regular editor (aka boyfriend whom I force to edit against his will) hasn't been as available for these last few chapters. So if you see something that I've missed in proofing please point it out!

* * *

**Maratu District, Omega **

They are the living. The only living in this world of unnatural rot, unnatural decay, unnatural death. The little green Children spread their roots through unearthly soils and feed blissfully on the artificial starlight. They know nothing of good or evil, of joy or sorrow. Theirs is simply to grow and multiply.

That is the missive the Mother gives them. Everyday, the people of this world kill and die for want of food. The hungry must learn to feed themselves. The Mother, her husband, and her companions built this great glass dome to find the answers. One day, they will share their knowledge. But this world is not yet ready.

She spends days upon nights in this secluded place. Analyzing, modifying, creating. The Children say she is the most beautiful woman to have ever breathed, with delicate freckles across her pale skin and flecks of gold in her auburn curls. She sings to her Children, whispers to them, pours her heart out to them and they respond in kind.

"Mrs. Butler?" comes the voice of a stranger. In his dual tones are notes of regret, notes of death. A chill runs through The Mother's veins. She begs her divinities not to let this towering figure be the man she dreads.

"Mrs. Butler…is this a comfortable place for us to talk?"

There is no other place she would ever want to be.

The Mother's eyes turn to ice, hardening as she takes in his imposing gray and blue frame. His eyes are gentle, but their shape pierces her heart. His face is bare, allowing her to trace the height of his princely cheekbones. The spurs on his arms and legs flatter the contours of his muscular body. Of course, The Angel would be handsome.

"You're him, aren't you?"

She notices the ceramic container he carries in his gloved hands. He may as well have been carrying the end of the world.

"You're the one my husband left me for."

He bows his head low in shame.

"Thomas has been…killed. We offer you our sincere condolences."

She sniffs the air lightly.

"I suppose that's him in the jar you're holding."

The man nods.

"How?"

"Shot in the head. Very quick, very painless."

The Angel tells such beautiful lies.

"I see."

Silence.

"I'd ask who did it, but I don't suppose it matters."

"He was a good man. He did a lot of good things."

"Thomas always wanted to do good. Feeding the poor, well, not enough guns involved in that. Didn't count."

"He spoke of you often. He believed in what you do. We could all see that he never stopped loving you."

"Love," she sighs. "There's no love in the world that could make a restless man come home safe every night."

She turns from this strange Angel and looks back to her Children. Inhaling their sweet scent, she thinks of mischievous glances through tall stalks of corn, the taste of just picked tomatoes left on their lips, the dirt on his hands that gets in her hair. Mother blinks back the pool of water behind her eyes, barely able to contain the aching flow as The Angel sets the jar down on the worktable beside her. She dips her head toward her chest and chokes on the sobs that escape her throat.

"Mrs. Butler, we will find the people who did this," he says, putting a three-fingered hand reassuringly on her shoulder. "We would like your permission to avenge Thomas."

"Get out," she cries. "Leave before I give you what you want."

There are no angels on Omega. There are only demons and the dying.

"GET OUT!"


	22. Chapter 22: Afterlife, Omega

_**Author's Note:** Proofed and aproved by Spyke1985 ( u/4193687/). Fiance now rendered useless. =P_

* * *

**Excerpt from transcript of Captain Josef Ashlunde report to Omega Security HQ**

A bunch of shit-for-brains vorcha…Mostly Blood Pack rejects thinking they could take over Gozu with a specially engineered plague to wipe out all the competition…Solus says it looks smart, but its just some shit that got cured so long ago nobody remembered anything about it. Fuck ups bought it from Collectors and didn't even realize it'd kill everyone _except_ the humans…Shit for brains vermin…Little frog man remembered it from salarian grade school or something and then built the antidote from scratch…Yeah, he works quick. Agreed to have our boys inoculated first too…Shoulda seen Fergush shit his pants at the sight of that needle. Bahahaha!…We've been having all kinds of luck down here. Some of them mercs got caught, bodies stinking up the alleyways. Omni tools untouched and everything…Her Majesty is gonna flip her shit when she finds out, the companies are working together to catch the Archangle…fine Archangel…whatever…point is once they're done with him they think they're gonna overthrow Aria…Bahahaha!…I'm looking forward to that throw down. Had my eye on this Eclipse bitch who kept cheating me at cards…She's gonna dance for me, ha ha, dance dance dance…

**Afterlife, Omega**

After emerging from the dimly lit red entryway, she was taken aback by a rush of cool air. Her eyes adjusted quickly to the fierce pulse of the lights. Sadly, there was no relief for the booming, skull grating noise these people called "music". And all the red. Red, red, red. The further inside they went, the higher in her chest her stomach rose. She looked back at Jacob and Miranda's placid expressions.

_I'm a god damn space marine feeling claustrophobic in a god damn nightclub._

It was the most massive space she'd ever seen for a nightclub. There were at least five levels of dance floors, lounge chairs and leather sofas around large turian water pipes, and dancers in all manners of costumes. Some wore body paint in exotic animal patterns while crawling voraciously across the glowing red floor. Others in tight leather bustiers lead delighted patrons by studded chains around their neck savagely behind them. Most were in elevated cages and platforms, dancing to ghostly rhythms with an ethereal ardor far above the maddened throngs.

On the highest platform, a white patterned asari in a faceless red mask writhed in bestial frenzy. The gold and ruby colored paint on her torso glimmered spectacularly in the spotlight. Her serpentine arms stroked her muscular thighs as her pelvis rose and fell over an invisible prostrated lover. Her stomach rippled with the movement of her hips, her chest heaved causing the flesh of her breasts to sway with the rhythm of her body, her fingers glided furtively over her erect her nipples. The heated, desperate breaths of the bewitched audience were soaked with liquor and the floral scent of the opium in the turian water pipes. Curious tongues darted through pale lips. Wild eyes rushed over the crowd, seeking an answer to their overwhelming animal need.

_This is power on Omega. _

A violet skinned asari with a cold stare, flanked by a small army of krogan and batarian, stood tall and rigid in a sectioned off lounge area. She hawkishly stared at their small party with her bright eezo blue eyes holding an long white cigarette between the long slim fingers on her right hand. A subtle green smoke rose from her nostrils and her wide lips, as though she were a restless chimera. Aria, the Queen of Omega.

_And this is it's conduit._

"Miranda Lawson," she said dryly, turning her mouth upward into cunning smirk. "Nice to see The Illusive Man increased your wardrobe budget."

"I even own a turtle neck sweater thanks to your invitation to the Omega markets," Miranda grinned, taking a step forward.

"An invitation that I may revoke at any time. Make sure your boss understands that."

"He is most grateful, I assure you."

"You and your fucking manners," Aria responded, sending a cloud a smoke into the other woman's face.

"Aria T'Loak," she interrupted gruffly. "I am Commander Sarah Shepard of the Normandy SR-2. Operative Lawson and Officer Taylor are currently working under me for an important mission. We've come to you to ask…request your permission to recruit Dr. Mordin Solus, currently running the Omega Clinic down in Gozu."

"A living, breathing Commander Shepard?" Aria huffed, keeping her eyes fixed on Miranda. "What's your play here?"

"Operative Lawson does not own me, and I am certainly not a _play._ We are mobilizing an elite task force to respond to the Collector threat. I am —"

"Oh, I understand the Collector threat just fine."

The asari straightened her white high collared jacket and turned unaffectedly towards her personal bar and made a quick hand gesture to her guards.

"Buzzing little fuckers, impossible to communicate with. I don't trust anything whose motives I can't understand."

Aria poured a thick red liquid that smelled something like blackberries and fire into two ornate crystal tumblers. She raised her left brow and extended one toward the Commander while taking a few sips from her own glass.

"I hope you'll improve on your next clones, Lawson. This one's face looks like it went through a meat grinder."

"I'm not a copy," she said coldly and politely took the drink.

It was a moment before Aria's mouth curled and her forehead furrowed. Her eyes darted back to Miranda before they rolled toward the ceiling in disgust.

"I'd like you better if you were a clone," she said. "But at least I understand the Illusive Man's motives better now."

She found it unlikely that this pirate queen would share such insight.

"I think I've heard enough about Lawson's experiments. You say you want Doctor Solus for a mission against the Collectors?"

"Yes."

"How much are you willing to pay for him?"

"You want money?" Jacob asked, apparently sharing her disbelief that a ruler like Aria could ever be so straight forward.

"Goddess no. Don't be boring," she scoffed, downing the last of her liquor. A thin residue left a deep colored stain across her lips and in the corners of her mouth. The carefully constructed aura of nonchalance melted before them. "I want blood."


	23. Chapter 23: Zeta District, Omega

**Zeta District, Omega **

"Compliments of the Narkuda crime family. Premium elcor cigars," grinned half the heavily scarred man's face as he jumped down from the driver's seat of three engine hauler. "Guaranteed to have you shitting tar for the next four days."

The armed guards at the gate let out a clamorous guffaw and slapped their familiar companion on the back with their large calloused hands. Patrolling the blistering hot shuttle port was one of the worst jobs at the base. With tensions among the newly mixed ranks as high as they were, any break in the sweltering monotony was only too welcome.

"Gods, tell me they sent Khar'shan scotch to wash it down with," pleaded a middle aged batarian, idiotically bearing his rotten teeth and foul breath.

"Calm down, Hursher. We'll get to the spoils after the victory," said his stooping krogan captain.

"Aww come on, Ekees," said a heavily tattooed human. He thumbed through the datapad their delivery man handed them while running a yellowing rag across the back of his neck. "Let the boys light 'em up while they're going through the cargo. Its just a bunch of spare mech parts and power tools."

"Fine. But I'll be saving mine until after this Archangel business is over and I don't have to answer to some scrawny Eclipse salarian with a pole up his ass."

"Hear that boys?" Hursher shouted, banging on the side of the truck. "Captain's building up a stash."

The men inside laughed and hooted their approval. The tattoed human rolled his eyes as he made his way around to the back.

"Time to start kissing ass!" Ekees shouted back. Turning back to cab of the truck, he let an exhausted sigh pass his lipless muzzle.

"Times like these I envy freelancers like you, Zaeed. All the companies are acting like they're on the Citadel or some shit, making alliances we all know they ain't gonna keep."

"That bad, is it?" the man said, cutting the end off his cigar with a utility knife.

"And worse. That slimy little Jaroth has Garm and Tarak convinced we could all take down Aria once this is over."

"Couldn't you?"

"If things held together long enough, we could take her by surprise. But you know this business, this place, better than anyone. How long could we hold it?"

"You're too smart, Ekeez. Far too smart."

"I just want to be able to take a piss without having to guard my dick all the time."

Zaeed tucked his unlit cigar firmly between his teeth and took a deep breath.

"And I'm sorry for that too," he said as he thrust his knife through the krogan's left eye.

His thumb hit the mechanism on the grip that made the buried blade expand and twisted it sharply back into his skull. The krogan fell to the ground like a sack of rocks, blood spilling slowly out of his open mouth. Zaeed bent down to grab a cheap silver lighter from the corpse's back pocket. He shook it to check for fluid then, satisfied, flicked it open and started the flame.

Walking back the length of the truck, he cradled the flame to the cigar at his lips and listened to the gurgle of the men in the truck having their throats cut.


End file.
